


Submerged

by Klariondude



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dark, Depression, Dubious Consent, Electrocution, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Group Sex, HYDRA Trash Party, Happy Ending, Humiliation, Identity Issues, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Other, Past Torture, Past Violence, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Sad, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Submission, please read the tags, sorry about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klariondude/pseuds/Klariondude
Summary: After Project Insight, he knew that there was more to him than just the Asset. But with the conditioning ingrained into his head, and a permanent reminder built into his body, it was going to take more than just time to heal.-- dark fic where Bucky slowly remembers who he is and Steve helps him out (little bit of a trash party)





	1. Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Please read the tags, there will be some troubling topics in this fic! You were warned!  
> The plot diverges after Captain America: Winter Soldier, but is compliant with most of the other important stuff in the MCU.  
> Please give feedback! (this is my first dark fic)

The air felt sharp and grating with each inhale. Rain poured down like bullets and thudded heavily on his shoulders and head. A deep, hollow pain ran through his body, every bone and muscle ached as he scrunched his body against the weather and walked down the street. 

 

But the pain in his body and the turmoil in his head never stopped him before, so it wouldn’t stop him now.

 

The solider had been working tirelessly, without rest for the past few days after Project Insight had failed, in order to make sense of who he was. 

 

Who the man on the bridge was. 

 

The man who called him ‘Bucky’. 

 

Something twinged in his chest as he remembered his face, the way he dropped his shield in surrender on the helicarrier. Everything about the man felt intrinsically familiar, yet entirely foreign all at the same time. 

 

He had come to learn that the man he fought was the famous Super Soldier, Captain America. 

 

Steve Rogers. 

 

At first, when his handlers never came to retrieve him, he still obeyed. Waiting patiently to be taken back to and wiped for another mission. He remained that way for a long time, still strictly following his commands from HYDRA, staying in the safe house, remaining inconspicuous, until his memories came back in tiny fragments. 

 

Then he felt like there was a deep crack in his whole world. One moment, everything in his identity had been The Asset, Weapon, or The Winter soldier, the next… it suddenly wasn’t. 

 

And that was the first thing that had ever scared him. 

 

When he visited the Smithsonian, he almost expected his memories to come rushing back. Like the opening of floodgates, for everything to click into place. 

 

But reading about himself, Steve and The War only pushed him to further confusion and frustration with himself. 

 

But even with his growing obsession with his memories, Rogers and HYDRA, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to uncover his memories. 

 

Everything felt like an abyss up until he encountered Steve. The limited memories that he retained were of HYDRA, of his conditioning, his training. 

 

How to be the perfect weapon. 

 

How to obey. 

 

How to submit. 

 

He was the Asset, and nothing else. 

 

He balled his left arm deeper into his jacket. He could feel the cool metal even through the fabric of his clothing. Despite the pouring rain and bitter cold, the streets were still packed with people. Walking and chatting loudly, cups of steaming coffee in their hands, umbrellas out, unbothered by everything. 

 

Usually, he wouldn’t enjoy being out in a crowd, the noise becoming grating in his ears or too distracting. But the rhythmic downpour of rain against the concrete, coupled with murmurs of conversation was a thankful distraction to the dark train of thoughts that often accompanied him. 

 

As more days passed out of cryo, more memories began to unearth themselves. Some were small insights to his life, others were dark reminders of the control HYDRA still had on him. 

 

*

_“… What a whore- look at this bitch take it. Like he was made to be fucked.” The sound of laughter and sneers surrounded him. Lewd noises filled the room as the Asset was brutally fucked by a soldier._

 

_The Asset said nothing._

 

_“Do you want more, Soldat?” The man barked, hands digging into his hips. Another man positioned himself in front of his face and pulled out his cock._

 

_The Asset remained silent, earning him a hard blow to the head. The room reeled around him, head throbbing violently._

 

_“Ja, Bitte.” He says automatically, voice devoid of emotion. The Asset opened his mouth, tongue out like how they trained him._

 

_Snickers and jeers scattered the room._

 

_“That’s right. That’s all you’re good for.”_

_*_

 

Bucky flinched, stopping suddenly in his tracks. The memory came up dark and unbidden, like a nightmare, only it was too real, too familiar. 

 

A man walked into him, knocking him back to his senses. 

 

“Oi- watch where you’re going, man!” 

 

“Sorry” he muttered.

 

He quickly moved to the side of the walkway, trying not to draw more attention to himself than he already had. Nausea built in his chest and he fought the bile that rose up in his throat. Thankfully he knew how to conceal his anxiety, years of conditioning ingraining the steel, impassive, emotionless face he usually wore. Feeling it slide back into place, his breath steadying, he lowered his cap once more and continued back to his apartment. 

 

The safehouse that he was staying in was… pretty filthy, for lack of a better word. The walls were peeling, the curtains were dusted and greying and he slept on a mattress on the floor. Even though the apartment was dingy and cramped, it was better than sleeping out on the street. It wasn’t like he cared either way though, the Asset didn’t have any preferences. 

 

Bucky tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and shrugged off his backpack. He was used to having sore shoulders by now, with a metal arm drilled into him and having to carry heavy weaponry all the time, he couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t sore (Not that he could remember much before being the Winter Soldier anyways).

 

He sat down heavily on the mattress, pulling his backpack closer with one hand while fishing the small notebook he had in his jacket with the other. 

 

He had spent a portion the day in the public library, gathering as much information as he could about Steve, The War, The Howling Commandoes, and HYDRA as he could. There was thankfully a lot about the first three topics, but not a lot about HYDRA during the War.

 

As he expected. He couldn’t just saunter up to a computer and downright start searching HYDRA without probably notifying them. 

 

But he could make do with the information he had. 

 

Bucky flipped through to the most recent entry he made, tiny dates scrawled in the margins of what he suspected were missions he was on, only vaguely recalling them. 

 

_Maybe if I can track my past missions, I can find out more about how HYDRA conditioned me._

 

He mused to himself, flicking the page to a photo of Rogers. In the image, he was wearing the same uniform he wore when they fought on the helicarrier. All red, white and blue. His helmet hid the majority of his head, but it did nothing to hide his piercing blue eyes. 

 

Bucky stared down at the scrap of paper, frustrating emotions he couldn't quite understand or grasp building in his chest. He didn’t quite know what he was feeling when he looked at the super soldier. A mixture of nostalgia, familiarity and comfort, perhaps. But he wasn’t sure. 

 

_“I’m with you to the end of the line.”_

 

His breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to hold onto the memory. Everything felt as if he was walking on eggshells, the fragile state of his mind threatening to break at any moment and collapse back into the black hole of orders and restriction that it was before. 

 

He sighed, the memory slipping from his grasp like everything else did. Realising how cold he was, he slid his wet jacket off his shoulders and placed it gingerly on the floor next to him. He took out the rest of the contents of his backpack: some groceries, a knife, and some newspaper articles he printed from the library. 

 

Bucky flicked through them, he hadn’t really felt safe reading them in the library - too exposed, and waited until he was back in the safety of his apartment. He mainly printed articles about the Avengers, Steve and SHIELD, sheepishly telling the librarian when she asked that he was just a fan. 

 

_Black Widow and Captain America destroy our Nation’s security!_

 

He skimmed the article, a bit too tabloidy to be truely helpful, but better than nothing nonetheless. 

 

_The Super Soldier from Brooklyn took down SHIELD last week, the United State’s most …_

 

Bucky paused his reading. Fragmented memories coming back in the form of sensations and flashes. An old apartment in Brooklyn. Dusty buildings. Clothing hanging on lines. Rolled up newspapers. 

 

He felt an odd pull to the borough. A palpable sense of purpose forming inside him. He didn’t know what it meant, or what it would lead him to, but all he knew was that he had to go there. 

 

It reminded him of when he was wiped and given a new mission. His entire mind zeroing in on one objective, one goal - doing everything he was trained to do until it was complete. No mistakes. 

 

He would follow his orders until they were reached, even when they weren’t right. 

 

He could tell that now. He recalled parts of missions that he was horrified to know he did. It was like viewing himself through a tunnel, seeing everything he did like it was another person. But it wasn’t. He was still every bit the weapon he was trained to be, no matter how hard he tried to blend into society, HYDRA made sure of that. The shit in his brain and the permanent weapon built into his left shoulder was a constant reminder. 

 

No, a definitive promise that he could never be free of their grasp. 

 

Bucky winced, the sound of sirens in the distant bringing a strange sensation to his chest. 

 

He stood up, not feeling the need to stay in his safe house, and gathered his things. He looked back down at his journal, down at the blonde’s face. 

 

Who was he? 

 

It was… slightly aggravating, feeling out of control. Not knowing, definitively what his mission was. 

 

Though he knew he preferred being ‘free’ of HYDRA (or at least he thought he knew), he didn’t much like the lost feeling that accompanied it. 

 

Bucky clenched his flesh hand, breathing into the nails digging into his palms. He instinctually suppressed his emotions, cooly compartmentalising his thoughts. He barely even registered he was doing it, falling into an easy rhythm of thoughtless actions, just like he was trained to. 

 

The trip to Brooklyn was short, only an hour train ride from where his safe house was located. Once he stepped off the train, he let his legs carry him unconsciously around the borough. He realised that he recognised streets, although they looked much more different than they used to. 

 

Memories of fights in alleys and a diner come back to him. Though they were replaced now by residential buildings and identical looking apartment stoops. 

 

He walked down the pavement, head low as he averted his gaze from the civilians enjoying their evening. He felt a tiny sense of satisfaction at the rows of neat houses and the tree lined streets. 

 

Suddenly he stopped. 

 

He turned and looked at the abandoned building he was standing at. The chain link fence lined the outside of the lot, newspaper is plastered on the inside of the windows, the red brick looking dusty and faded. 

 

Bucky hesitated, something deep inside him stirred. 

 

An outline of a small figure flickers in his vision. Blonde, steel blue eyes, with newspapers in his shoes. He walks just ahead of him, visibly sullen and angry. 

 

A foreign voice rings out in his head, 

 

his voice, 

 

_“But the thing is, you’re not alone, Steve.”_

 

Bucky shook his head imperceptibly and the vision faded. Suddenly, for a brief shining moment he almost felt like he had an idea of who he was. It felt like he had emerged from freezing water for a single gasp of air before he was shoved back under again. 

 

He winced, his brow furrowing. 

 

Before entering the building, he thoroughly surveyed the surrounding area. Making sure there weren’t potential traps or HYDRA agents lying in wait for him. 

 

Nothing seemed amiss, at least what he had investigated. 

 

After ensuring that the area was clear, he walked down the alley adjacent to the structure and slipped out of view of the street. 

 

Deftly and with great care not to make too much noise, he climbed over the chain link face and jumped softly down. Dried dirt and dust kicked up as he landed, the grass yellow and brittle under his feet from lack of water. 

 

Bucky shifted into a standing position and moved to the outside of the building, easily pulling himself up onto the rusty fire escape. 

 

It creaked under his weight, but the darkening sky hid his form from any curious onlookers on the street.

 

With practiced ease, he pushed up the window and climbed into the apartment. 

 

He felt the same, easy sense of precision and calculation that his mind slipped into when he was given a mission. Which was helpful when he was trying to balance his new memories and emotions with finding out about himself. 

 

Immediately as he re closed the window and stepped off the window sill, he began to remember the apartment. 

 

_James Buchanan Barnes- I mean_ ** _I_** _, used to share an apartment with Steve Rogers._ He stated in his mind, absorbing the information hungrily. 

 

_Can’t read that in a museum_ , he thought quietly to himself as he cautiously walked around the apartment. 

 

The rooms were barren now, graffiti streaked the cracked walls, but he could still almost see where the furniture used to be. 

 

He knew he was in what used to be the main room.

 

His head turned to the side. 

 

There was the faint outline of where appliances and a counter used to be installed in the wall. They used to cook there. Or whatever they thought passed as ‘cooking’, the fragrance of burnt pasta and toast waft under his nose, almost as if there was someone really cooking right in front of him. 

 

Bucky turned and took in the rest of the room. Despite the memories that were coming back of the apartment, he couldn’t help but still feel a cold, removal from them. 

 

Every memory that he had only served to show a fragmented portion of his identity. There was a vaguely linear connection between them which he helped connect with his research, but other than that, he still felt disjointed. Like a cracked mirror, with the pieces spread far apart. 

 

Something shifted in the corner of his eye. Could be just a rat, but there was never any room for chances. 

 

Bucky slowly pulled out the concealed knife in his boot, crouching delicately and approaching the wall. 

 

He held his breath, body tense in anticipation. His ears were perked at any noise; the sound of breathing, or the crackle of radio. 

 

Everything seemed to still for a few seconds, dust particles suspended in the air. 

 

He glanced down at the ground and he saw a shadow shift. 

 

In an instant, Bucky whipped around the corner and flung his knife at the source of the movement. 

 

The man narrowly avoided a knife to the head.

 

Rollins. 

 

He straightened up, eyes cold. 

 

“I’ve got The Asset.” He said calmly, hand to his earpiece. Bucky lurched forward, trying to get in close to Rollins so he could get his gun off him. 

 

_Stupid, I should have armed myself._

 

Rollins ducked down, bringing his fist up towards his jaw. It connected and pain exploded in his head. He faltered for half a second, blinking the stars away from his vision. But it was still long enough for Rollins to take another hit at him. 

 

He stumbled back. 

 

“You’ve gotten soft.” Rollins sneered, his lips curling up into cold smirk. 

 

Bucky felt his neck crawl at his comment. Suddenly, Rollins pulled a taser from his leg and jabbed viciously at him. 

 

Bucky veered back just in time and swung his metal arm at his side. At the same time, he kicked out Rollins leg, sending him to the ground. 

 

Before he could hit him again, armed soldiers burst through the door. He immediately raised his metal arm and blocked the bullets from his head. Rushing forward before the soldier could react, he yanked the gun from his hands and smashed it furiously into his face, knocking him out. 

 

Raising the gun, he aimed it right at Rollins’ smug face. 

 

Nevertheless, more soldiers crashed through the windows. Glass splintering and shattering everywhere. 

 

He was about to pull out his second knife, but paused for a second, calculating his next move as the sound of guns cocking filled the room, surrounding him. 

 

“Now, now, Soldier - don’t you think it’s time to come home?” Said Rollins cooly. He stepped closer, face inches away from his raised gun. 

 

He gripped it tighter. 

 

Rollins made an impatient noise in his throat. 

 

“Stand _down_ , Soldat.” 

 

Despite everything, despite every fibre in his body screaming at him to escape, despite his mind telling him no, he felt his grip slacken. 

 

_Listen to your handlers._

 

His chest tightened as he faintly registered the gun clatter to the ground. 

 

_No._

 

He flicked his eyes down. Rollins was already confirming into the comms that he had retrieved ‘The Asset’. 

 

Bucky eyed the soldiers around the room. He couldn’t see their faces but could see the tension in their bodies. He knew that if he made one wrong move, they could and would kill him in seconds. 

 

He had to wait until their guard was down. 

 

His eyes shifted again, the soldier to his left had a grenade on his hip. 

 

But he was too far away to reach in one step. 

 

Part of him felt ready to risk everything and escape, the other part, The Asset - was compliant and obedient. Already making him question his thoughts of attack. 

 

_Obey your Handlers._

 

His flesh hand twitched, curling into a fist. 

 

“Time to go.” Barked Rollins and he nodded to one of the soldiers. 

 

He pulled out handcuffs that looked especially reinforced to restrict his movement. 

 

Bucky waited, remaining with his eyes downcast until the soldier got closer to him. He could hear the sound of the metal unclasping. Taking that as his cue, he grabbed the soldier’s arm and threw him, blocking his own body from the rain of bullets that suddenly hailed down on him at his sudden movement. 

 

With deft fingers, Bucky grabbed the grenade from the soldier’s belt. Then, while the soldiers and Rollins were momentarily stunned, he pulled the pin. 

 

Tossing it into the middle of the room, Bucky turned and smashed through the window of the apartment, bracing himself with his metal arm as the flat exploded behind him. 

 

He landed harshly on his arm, grunting in pain as he absorbed the impact into his shoulder. 

 

Without taking any moment to notice the sharp pain in his side, Bucky quickly forced himself to get up and sprinted into the night, just as car alarms and lights began to turn on in the buildings around him.

 

 


	2. Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * some speech was taken from Captain America: Civil War * 
> 
> Please comment feedback!

Steve never felt so grateful for the serum as during his fast recovery after Project Insight. He had been bedridden for a few days, but was quickly able to get back on his feet with the help of Sam’s excellent music choice and Natasha’s movie collection. 

 

Though he enjoyed watching _Saw II_ and listening to Marvin Gaye with his friends, he was extremely relieved when he was able to walk out of the hospital feeling 100% better. 

 

The only thing that hadn’t changed over the course of his stay in the hospital, was the constant thought of Bucky in his mind. 

 

He didn’t know how to deal with it. After being thawed out of the ice, and finding out everything he knew and loved was dead or 100 years old, it was a bit jarring to suddenly discover that his best friend since childhood had been brainwashed into an assassin for HYDRA.

 

Steve kept trying to reconcile the conflicts in his head to no avail. On one hand, he understood Sam’s point that Bucky may not be able to save, and he listened to Nat’s warning of the depth of Bucky’s origin. But even with two very logical and sound arguments, he couldn’t squash the nagging feeling in his chest that he could save Bucky. 

 

He saw it his eyes when they fought on the helicarrier. Just behind the steel, cold Winter Soldier, he could see his best friend.

 

The guy from Brooklyn who said he would follow him any where. 

 

To the end of the line. 

 

Steve sighed heavily and sunk deeper into the sofa. Sam was off somewhere in his kitchen, making god knows what, all while blasting Aretha Franklin. 

 

“Hey Steve, you want something while I’m in the kitchen?” Yelled Sam. 

 

Steve thought back to all the awful sandwiches that Sam had made for him in the past and politely declined. 

 

“No thanks, I’ll just eat later.” He replied. 

 

“You find anything new on that Karpov guy?” Said Sam as he entered the living room laden with snacks. 

 

Steve exhaled and shook his head. They had been tracking a member of HYDRA that had been an overseer of the Winter Soldier Program inside the Russian Armed Forces. All they had of him was an old photo and a few vague files on an assassination, but nothing detailing who the target was or location, only that ‘The Asset’ had been used. 

 

Just as they began to launch into another discussion on possible theories of his location, Steve’s phone rang. 

 

Natasha’s name popped up on his screen. He slid the answer button and picked up the phone. 

 

“Steve?” 

 

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him, gesturing ‘who is it?’. 

 

“Nat? What’s up?” He asked promptly. Her voice sounded tense, though it was always quite difficult to discern what she was feeling. 

 

“There was an explosion in Brooklyn.” 

 

His brow furrowed. Nat wouldn’t have called him if it was just any explosion, she knew he and Sam were on a mission. 

 

“Bucky?” 

 

Sam gave him a quizzical look. 

 

“I think so.” 

 

Steve’s expression hardened and he nodded to Sam. 

 

“We’re on our way.” 

 

 

When they arrived at the scene, the building was taped off and members from the World Security Council were already swarming the remains of building. Luckily the explosion hadn’t killed any of the residents living nearby, considering that it was in an abandoned building. 

 

When Natasha had sent him the location, he already knew, without a doubt in his mind that Bucky had been there. It was his old apartment, pre serum that they had shared after his mom died. He could almost imagine how it used to look like, when there were kids running around in the front, laundry hanging out the windows and people smoking in the stoops. 

 

Now, it was barely recognisable. The floor his apartment was on had its windows completely blown out, glass was scattered everywhere. 

 

He stopped walking and looked up at the building. 

 

“You know it?” Asked Sam. His voice was hard, but there was concern underneath his curt tone.

 

“Yeah. I used to. This was our- _my_ old apartment, before the War.” 

 

Sam nodded in understanding. Once they entered the flat, they could see a clear view of the damage that the explosive caused. Natasha was already inside, squinting at the floor. She looked up at their entry. 

 

“Hey guys.” 

 

Sam stared at the bare floor she was looking at, “You find something or just admiring the tile work?” 

 

Her lips lifted into a tiny smirk, “Yeah, really impressive tiling in the kitchen” she said sarcastically and then her expression shifted. “It seems like someone tried tried to cover up whatever happened here last night, there’s clear indication that there was a fight by the kitchen with the damage to the wall, but the floor has been cleaned.” 

 

Steve walked over to the kitchen. Nat was right, the wall had a deep gash in it as if someone had thrown a knife at it. But whoever did, had enough arm strength to penetrate the concrete wall and leave a deep enough hole. 

 

He peered at the mark on the wall and looked back at Natasha and Sam. 

 

“Bucky was definitely here.” He said gravely. 

 

Steve walked back to the pair, carefully skirting the debris from the explosion. He crossed his arms and sighed heavily, they finally got a good indication of Bucky’s general whereabouts, just not what he was doing or anything else. 

 

“Any witnesses? ” Asked Sam. 

 

She shook her head, “No. But, the forensics team did find a blood stain in the cracks of one of the tiles. Not sure yet if it’s old, but maybe they can confirm if he was here or not.” Her brow furrowed and she looked in the direction of the street. “another team is doing rounds in the neighbourhood, we can try see if any of the neighbours had security cameras catching him fleeing. But if this was a Hydra operation, they probably were cautious about that.” 

 

Sam frowned. “After project Insight, what Hydra members are still active? Rumlow’s in custody, Pierce is dead, and the Russian branch has been long gone since the Soviet Union collapsed.” 

 

It was a sound point. After releasing all of Hydra’s information onto the internet, most of their agents came out of hiding, either by force or lack of having any other option. 

 

“Considering that Hydra was able to keep secret that they were still active for 70 years, I’m sure they were able to keep another one hidden.” Steve said bitterly, thinking about how Bucky had been their secret weapon for years. 

 

An agent of the World Security Council approached Natasha and gestured that she needed to tell her something. 

 

“You can tell them as well.” Nat said curtly. 

 

The agent hesitated for a second then seemingly decided that it would be better not to argue with a trained assassin. 

 

She nodded sharply and faced them all in a very formal manner, arms by her side, back stick straight. Steve almost smiled, he could see himself in the confident way she held herself, despite the inequality that she probably faced in her work. 

 

“We just got word that Jack Rollins, former member of the head task force of Shield escaped from custody last night. We were unable to contact the agents that were holding him until this morning. Most of them had been subdued. The council suspects that Rollins had help.” 

 

“Thank you, Agent Cohen.” Said Natasha in a resigned voice, dismissing her. Cohen nodded and stepped away. 

 

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Well isn’t that great.” He said sarcastically. 

 

Steve sighed, thinking the exact same thing. The information they had released showed that Rollins and Rumlow played key roles in handling Bucky. If Rollins had been helped in his escape, that meant Bucky could be recaptured or worse. 

 

Steve swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and set himself to investigating. 

 

The three of them spent the remaining afternoon scouring the building for information, and much to Steve’s chagrin, most of the evidence had already been taken in by the Security council agents. 

 

Sam and Steve studied the ground outside the building. Glass crunched underneath his foot, cracking into the dust in the dry grass. 

 

“You think he ran from here?” Said Sam as he looked at the high drop from the shattered window to the ground. Steve followed his eyes, imagining Bucky jumping from that height and fleeing. 

 

He crouched on the ground, there was a patch of dark brown grass. Dried blood was already flaking and changing colour. 

 

“Maybe. Looks like he could be hurt, there’s a lot of blood here. Wherever he is - if he managed to escape - couldn’t be far.” 

 

 

The sharp, piercing pain had dulled to a deep throb in his side, occasionally leaking blood but he’d managed to stem most of the flow. Bucky pressed his metal hand firmly to his wound, the cloth that he found serving as a crude bandage until he could scrounge up something better. 

 

After fleeing the scene, Bucky had sprinted as fast and far away as his legs could carry him. He couldn’t go back to his safe house, already knowing that it would be compromised. Instead, he settled himself in a small abandoned building on the outskirts of Brooklyn. 

 

There was an uneasy knot of confusion in his stomach. It twisted inside him the more he tried to remember who he was. 

 

_I’m James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038._

 

His side throbbed and he shut his eyes trying to steady himself. But he didn’t know. Maybe the person he used to be and the person he was now could never merge. Maybe he was going to be stuck forever in this purgatory, forever unable to fully grasp his identity. 

 

While he retained sharp and harshly clear memories of his time with Hydra, he was also beginning to gain vivid yet vague memories of his actual past. The sensations of warmth, familiarity, nostalgia all coming back to him at odd moments. Always accompanied by flickers of visions. 

 

He exhaled slowly, his breath puffing out in front of him like smoke. 

 

_I have to move soon._ He reminded himself, knowing that Rollins would find him in time. 

 

The name shot an uncomfortable shudder down his spine, a slow stabbing pain began in his head. Bucky screwed his eyes shut in pain and curled in on himself. 

 

 

_A hard hand struck him hard across the face. Blood dripped steadily from his lip onto the floor. But the Soldier did not retaliate. Could not retaliate._

 

_Pierce crouched just in front of the Soldier, face morphed into a strange expression of disappointment._

 

_“Do you know what you were made for?” He asked. His voice was hard and cold, anger bubbling just under the surface. The Soldier knew what that tone meant. It meant he had failed. Which meant he had to be punished. The Soldier did not remember what his orders were, but he remembered that he hesitated. And that cost them the mission._

 

_“I am the fist of Hydra” he stated, words automatic like vomit in his throat._

 

_“Then why, did the mission fail? Were those your orders?” He barked._

 

_The soldier looked up blankly at Pierce. He could see his handlers standing just behind him in wait, stun batons in hand. Rollins and Rumlow. He did not know why the mission failed._

 

_What were his orders—?_

 

_Another sting came across his face, harder this time. It made his head jerk back from the force._

 

_“Were they?” Pierce asked again, firmer._

 

_“…No.”_

 

_Pierce made a noise of dissent and pursed his lips at Rollins beside him._

 

_“See to it that he learns his mistake. He’s useless in this state. Afterwards, prep him for cryo.”_

 

_“Yes Sir.”_

 

_Pierce walked away after giving him one more look of disgust, leaving Rumlow and Rollins with smug looks on their face. The Soldier ducked his head down like he was trained, letting them grab his head roughly by his hair._

 

_“I’m gonna enjoy this.” Growled Rollins. He turned on his stun baton, electricity crackling like thunder in his ear. Before the Soldier could shy away from the weapon, he jabbed it harshly against his neck. Screams tore out of his throat as the electricity ran through his body. Every nerve ending exploded in pain as if on fire, limbs rigid and shaking uncontrollably until his vision went white._

 

 

Bucky jerked against the wall, shaking and trembling as if he actually experienced the vision. His head felt alight with pain. For the first time in what felt like his entire life, he felt pure terror souring his blood at the memory. He reached up with his flesh hand and touched it to his cheek, almost still stinging from the pain of being hit. 

 

Bucky swallowed, a foreign, cold emotion running through him. Was it sadness? He could not tell. 

 

He pushed himself up off the floor and stumbled weakly towards the windows. In the area he was in, most of the buildings were half demolished or empty. He studied the alleyways and rooftops for movement, finally coming away from the boarded up window when he felt satisfied that there was no one near him. 

 

Bucky turned and sat down roughly against the wall again, his pained grunt only half concealed. 

 

His wound still wasn’t healed enough for him to fight if he had to. And even if he wanted to treat it more, he’d lost his bag during the attack. 

 

All of the information that he’d compiled over the past weeks were gone. 

 

_Pathetic._

 

He tightened his hold on his side and drew his jacket closer around himself. Before long, falling into a fitful sleep. 

 

It was the sound of muted footsteps that woke him up. Bucky snapped his eyes open and immediately forced himself into a crouched position. His injury could wait. There was someone on the roof. He flicked his eyes to where the sound was coming from. 

 

_I shouldn’t have fallen asleep._

 

There were three people at least, he counted. He strained his ears, heart thudding against his chest as he listened for their location. His eyes darted around the dusty room. There was nothing he could barricade the door with. The air seemed to still, the room barely lit by the window, a dark dusty mood settling in around him. Bucky crouch walked to the corner of the room and positioned himself beside the entrance. 

 

He waited with bated breath, metal hand flexing in anticipation. 

 

The wood creaked ever so slightly outside the door. The sound of hushed voices barely audible over the dense night. 

 

Then the door pushed slowly open. Bucky remained silent, hidden by the edge of the wall. 

 

Once the door was fully open, Bucky shot his metal arm out, grabbing the figure roughly by the neck and twisting them into a headlock. If Bucky wasn’t already injured and unarmed, he would easily be able to overpower the man. But he wasn’t. Taking advantage of this, the man twisted out of his hold and aimed his gun at him. 

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, he recognised this person. He had seen him on the bridge with Steve Rogers. 

 

The man aimed his gun steadily at his head despite being out of breath. He used his other hand to press against the device in his ear. 

 

“Nat, Steve- I have him.” 

 

He flicked his eyes to the man’s face at the sound of Steve’s name. If the man noticed him staring, he gave no indication. He muttered something else into the comms and then moved his head back to face Bucky. 

 

Bucky knew that he could have disarmed him. His weapon was only a few meters away. But he carefully stilled himself, something holding him back. Besides, he had strained his wound and it was now steadily soaking his shirt.

 

After a few tense moments the door opened again. 

 

This time Bucky recognised for sure who the man he faced was. His eyes still flashed blue even in the dark of the room, staring straight at Bucky. Something shifted in Rogers’ expression, something incomprehensible that quickly passed. 

 

Another person joined them. A small woman, though Bucky could tell already that she was not to be underestimated. There was a flicker of recognition that went through Bucky, but it ended as soon as it started. 

 

“Do you know me?” Asked Rogers. His voice was tense, almost sounding worried at what he would answer. 

 

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. His chest had tightened considerably and he found that he almost couldn’t. 

 

“You’re Steve… I read about you in a museum.” He said hoarsely. 

 

Steve’s face fell slightly and he pursed his lips. 

 

_I said something wrong._

 

He lowered his shield and gestured at the other two to do the same. Though hesitant at first, they gradually followed suit. He cautiously took a step towards Bucky, making large and deliberate movements as if trying not to scare a wild animal. 

 

“I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be.”

 

Bucky made a barely perceptible nod and looked down. Blood had started to splatter on the floor, it looked almost black in the dark light. Steve’s eyes looked down to where Bucky was staring, and he swallowed audibly when he caught the amount of blood coming from his wound. 

 

“But you have to trust us. There are people coming to get you now, and they’re not planning to ask you first.” 

 

He flicked his eyes back up at the Captain. He could hear footsteps coming from the roof. Judging by Steve’s expression, he heard it too. 

 

“ _Steve_.” Said the woman urgently. 

 

Steve looked back at her and then took another step towards Bucky, his eyes pleading. 

 

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.” 

 

“it always ends in a fight.” 

 

Bucky shifted and clenched his metal fist. His chest clenched at the sound of his name. But there was no time to reflect on that, he could hear the footsteps louder now. The other two now looked more tense, raising their weapons again and looking towards the sources of the sound. 

 

Steve approached him again. 

 

“ _You_ _pulled_ me from the river. Why?” His eyes were flicking back and forth between his own, obviously desperate for an answer. 

 

_Because I’m with you till the end of the line._

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“Cap, we gotta go _now_.” Said the other man. 

 

He ignored him, stilly staring intently at Bucky. 

 

“ _Yes_ , you do.” 

 

Bucky wanted to nod, to agree with him, allow some semblance of understanding back into his mind. But the Winter Soldier didn’t allow it. Making the cold, calculating mask click firmly back into place as he prepared himself for the imminent fight. 

 

The room exploded with noise, men crashing in through the windows. Instinctually, Bucky grabbed the nearest soldier to him and slammed him hard against the ground. He could hear the crack of a skull against concrete, confirming his subduing. 

 

In the corner of his eye, the other man and woman were fending off three men. Whereas, Steve had placed himself right by his side. To Bucky’s surprise, he found that he instinctively worked well with the other man. Attacking and covering each others backs (though Bucky was a tad bit more violent compared to Steve). 

 

But although there was a hint of familiarity at the way he moved, Bucky couldn’t stay. He felt a pang of pain go through him, and it wasn’t coming from any injury. 

 

He smashed a soldier’s head into the concrete wall, the wall cracking viciously. 

 

Steve’s arm came to grip his shoulder. 

 

“Buck, stop! You’re gonna kill someone!” 

 

Bucky twisted against his hold and shoved him away. 

 

“I’m not gonna kill anyone.” He growled. But with instinctual way his fists moved, it was difficult to fight against his muscle memory. Bucky glanced around the chaos in the room, Rollins wasn’t there, which only meant that he would be coming soon. 

 

He grimaced, the wound in his side throbbed horribly and it took almost all of his strength not to curl in on himself. 

 

_I have to get out of here._

 

“ _Steve,_ the quinjet is ready. Let’s _go_!” Barked the woman as she knocked out another Soldier. But it was futile, he could hear more on their way, evidently the others also heard and uneasily glanced at each other. 

 

As the three of them argued urgently over the fighting (He could hear faint bits of conversation like ‘Security council’, ‘dangerous’ and ‘unpredictable’), Bucky propped himself up against the wall. The amount of blood that he was losing was getting dangerously high. Even with the super soldier serum, he wouldn’t be able to remain conscious for longer. But he continued to push himself, the last ounces of his strength used to violently subdue the soldier closest to him. 

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, there was an opening for him to flee. 

 

He sprinted, coldly removing himself from the pain he was feeling and jumped across the edge of the building onto the roof of the one opposite. He glanced back, heart thudding rapidly against his chest. The sound of gunfire and more soldiers could be heard. Knowing that they were occupied, he pushed onwards, the movement of his legs against the concrete the only thing on his mind. 

 

He could hear faint shouting. Something that sounded vaguely like Steve. 

 

A strange longing surged up inside him and his steps faltered.

 

But before he could stop and turn, something hard jabbed itself into his side. Instantly, he dropped, a hoarse scream ripped out of him as he was electrocuted. It felt like it lasted for minutes, though Bucky knew it could have only been seconds. 

 

He panted on the ground, clutching his side as he tried to push himself up. 

 

A pair of boots positioned themselves in front of them. A horribly familiar sensation seeped into his stomach, causing bile to form in his throat. 

 

“You trying to run away, Soldier?” 

 

Rollins’s gruff voice rung out in his ears. 

 

Bucky coughed, arms still trembling as he attempted to get up. There was another blow to his side, sharp against his ribs. 

 

“I asked you a question.” Demanded Rollins. 

 

He remained silent, a sudden indignation forming in him. He wanted to yell obscenities at him, to curse and spit. 

 

“ _Fuck you._ ” He spat, blood coated his teeth, his snarl red and animal. 

 

Then after a pause, Rollins started laughing. It was more of a harsh bark than anything else, grating his ears like it had for years before. Bucky flinched like he had been hit, memories of humiliation and torture flashing before his eyes. He could almost hear the echoing laughs of Hydra members as he debased himself in front of them. 

 

Rollins grabbed him by his hair, hauling him up as he crouched in front of him. 

 

“Look at you, you’re weak without us.” He sneered. His expression softened. Almost earnestly, he cooed, 

 

“ _It’s time to come home, Soldier_.” 

 

_Return to your Handlers._

 

Bucky felt a pang of despair form in him. The tiny scraps of his old identity beginning to fade and crack, just by a few meager words. 

 

“ _No_.” He whispered. 

 

“vozvrashchaysya domoy, soldat” 

 

_Obey._

 

Bucky stumbled into a standing position, he felt weak from blood loss. The corners of his eyes blurred and warped, stars dotting his vision. But anger boiled just under his skin, threatening to burst from the surface. 

 

“ _No._ ” He repeated, stronger this time. 

 

Rollins looked livid. His nostrils flared, lips forming an ugly snarl. Without saying anything else, he flicked the stun baton on again, it’s electricity crackling menacingly. Bucky weakly braced himself, his fists raised shakily in front of him. 

 

In less than a blink of an eye, his nerves felt like they were on fire again. Pain exploded in his entire body, his vision going white. He distantly registered angry shouting, it sounded as if he was hearing it from the end of a long tunnel. The only thing occupying his thoughts was the searing pain that had taken hold of his entire body. 

 

Without even realising it, his consciousness left him and he blacked out. 

 

 


End file.
